Seen and Unforeseen
by NothingToulouse
Summary: An allegedly easy heist goes wrong. Terribly wrong. ... Danny and Rusty centric, set after O13.
1. The End

Okay, so I had this idea... and I hope I managed to get it all transferred to words. If not, I'm really sorry.  
This one's inspired by Muse's "Apocalypse Please". Go and listen to it, will ya?

* * *

_this is the end of the world  
_

"Rus, you're gonna love this." Some blue prints were laid out in front of him, covering the gummi bear bag. "It's lucrative. It's subtle. It's great fun."

One quick glance, then his eyes wandered back to the screen. "And it's dangerous."

"It's low profile."

"We'll be robbing a plastic arts collection." Which definitely wasn't low profile.

"Exactly. Fun."

"_Not_ my point, Danny."

"I know." He waited for the exasperated sigh, but it never came. "Humor me, Rus."

Words were building up in his throat, forming on his lips. Let's not do it, let's keep things low-key, you heard Basher, we definitely should… and you shouldn't risk wasting another four years, five years in some cell.

But he kept his eyes on the screen and didn't let Danny see, because Danny wanted to do this and probably needed to do this, had planned to do this ever since Tess had walked out of the door with nothing but reasonable arguments and correct conclusions on her lips.

"Alright." It was going to work out. It had to.

- -

Danny had first felt the rush of justified enthusiasm when the way in had proved to be exactly as _easy_ as he'd hoped it would be. Sure, there was a fraction of 'It's too easy and we really should not be doing this' in every move they made, and although Rusty was behaving like Rusty again, the small argument they had had in the car about pushing their luck was still somewhere in his chest, but this was great. It wasn't Fabergé and it definitely wasn't Belize, but it was great.

They knew the night watchman would not be checking the basement storage until 2am. They had one hour left. Danny nodded, hands already stretching the gloves, gaze drifting over the endless shelves. Behind him, Rusty drew a deep breath, throwing him a small glance.

All right?

No worries.

Silence embraced them and with a small nod, Rusty disappeared into the lower basement to check their exit.

The twelfth row from the right. Danny's steps barely echoed within the high walls. Tenth. Eleventh. Twelfth. So close.

And something was wrong.

He turned around, just in time to see the door being closed, swiftly, quietly, and he was locked, trapped, pushing against the door and twisting the doorknob that wouldn't open and damn, Rusty was outside and he couldn't reach him and God, what the _hell_ was going on?

There were people moving outside, muffled voices, and he jerked away from the door only to lean back in, slightly trembling, trying to make out what was happening. Ages passed and suddenly he heard a thud, short commands, and fear rose in his chest, spreading through his arms, paralyzing his fingers for a moment, and he couldn't think straight,

Rusty. Fuck.

The sounds were becoming more and more quiet. Danny suppressed a sudden anxiety attack that was about to numb his brain and pushed against the door once more. Something moved, something clicked and there he was, standing in the corridor, face to face with a man in a dark suit, broad shoulders, sunglasses, thin lips.

"Careful now, Mr. Ocean." He moved his arm ever so slightly and Danny caught sight of the handgun. "We don't want to call the watchman's attention, do we? Might get a bit uncomfortable for both of us. Oh, and for Mr. Ryan, of course."

Rusty. Danny's gaze jumped from the man to the small staircase.

Shit, Rusty.

"Listen. There will be conditions and there will be rules. We'll contact you. I wouldn't inform anyone if I were you. This is just between us. _Private affairs._ Oh, and you are going to wait here for another five minutes after I've left." Catching Danny's glance, he smiled and it intensified the bone-crushing pressure on Danny's chest. "If there's any _misunderstanding_ – in any way imaginable – I promise you'll regret it. Both of you. It's very easy, Mr. Ocean, and you should better not think of making it difficult."

The man turned and Danny's senses screamed at him to lunge at this creature, to hurt, hurt, hurt, to scream, to cry, God, Rusty. Instead, he heard himself say: "Don't you dare touch him."

Vanishing into the darkness of the lower basement, the man laughed.


	2. Awakening

A/N: I still don't own anything recognisable. And I'm really, really nervous and insecure about this chapter...

Thank you for the lovely reviews, everybody!

* * *

_come on and change the course_

Cold flashes were exploding behind his temples, numbing the inside of his pupils and burning into his skullcap. His head was spinning and Rusty had to fight the urge to let himself sink into nothingness again, this empty, choking space that held endless falls into the dark.

His heartbeat caught up with the explosions and for a moment the deafening fear of the unknown, the unforeseeable, was everywhere, in every pore, threatening to overpower him.

Trying to get his body to react, he fought to control his breaths, letting every sense, every part of his brain concentrate on inhaling, exhaling, inhaling, exhaling… And then the exterior became existent: Coldness was clinging to his lips, entering his mouth, filling his lungs.

And his body reappeared, his senses spread over his shoulders, his torso, his legs… coldness covering every inch. His mind racing and aching, he noticed he was sitting, leaning against stone, arms tied behind his back, absolutely naked.

He felt his muscles tense and with bated breath he waited for the moment he'd wake up, open his eyes to a sunny morning, some hotel room, view wandering from the white suit to the black, figuring he shouldn't have eaten _this much_ cheese the night before.

He didn't wake up and he had known he wouldn't.

Between white and black bursts inside his head, Rusty tried to remember. A cellar room, white walls, heavy doors. Somewhere, a door had been shut. Somehow, he hadn't reacted when the air had changed. A blow to the head, the fall into darkness.

But they had been-

Danny.

His breathing stopped, the flashes were bright and burned his mind.

Danny.

Knowing it would hurt, already feeling the pain, Rusty opened his eyes, only to feel something tight that was wrapped around his head quite firmly hindering his sight. A blindfold.

It wasn't the right moment to panic, Rusty reminded himself. Blocked vision. He felt as if he'd bump against something by only moving his head two inches.

His tongue glided over his lips. He didn't want to do this, he really didn't. It didn't feel right, but he had no choice. Slowly, he opened his mouth.

"Danny."

No reaction.

"Danny, are you-" Alright?

Here?

Awake?

With me?

Alive?

"Can you do anything? Is there…"

Anything you can do?

Is there _anyone_?

Nothing. No noise, no reaction.

Rusty had to tell himself to calm down, to breathe again, to listen to himself, to stay composed, to build a wall around himself.

Check your location. Check your situation. Concentrate on the solution…

And suddenly, he knew he wasn't alone. He could feel the eyes, feel the body somewhere close, a few feet away, gaze fixed on him, witnessing… and without thinking, he raised his chin, raised his whole head and the world collapsed.

Nausea washed over him, entered his body, his mind, his everything, and he threw his throbbing head to the left, not being able to get enough space to move in, vomiting and shaking, shoulders heaving, his body clenching.

"Upset stomach, Mr. Ryan?"

The voice cut through his bones. Heavy footsteps came closer, the man laughed and Rusty couldn't stop this feeling of sickness. Shivering, he leaned against the wall.

This voice, these memories, images from…

"Or shall I say... Mr. Partch?"

Long walks under palm trees, white sand. Danny and Reuben and the perfect plan. And the first time he'd have to hear that voice, pointing a gun at their heads, escaping from Reuben's estate…

"I'm sure you remember …"

The thing with the guy.

"… although your memories might be a bit more positive than mine."

Belize.

"Your cry for help was unheard, I'm afraid. I will inform Mr. Ocean of your loyalty when I next get the chance to talk to him."

Danny. He wasn't here, he was… safe?

"Now, I must say, it is quite a pleasure to see you speechless for once, Mr. Ryan. And so defenceless. So… exposed."

The steps came closer.

Danny.

Don't let him know, don't let him see, don't let him reach you. _Us._

Danny, I-

I know.

--

A/N: This might be the moment for a violence warning...


	3. Private Affairs

I have to apologise. I really do. This took me longer than expected and it's a lot shorter than I had planned. And it probably sucks. Also, my deep, sincere apologies to otherhawk and InSilva who are so great with all their constructive criticism and who haven't gotten a review by me for two weeks or so. I had some stuff going on but that's no excuse.  
Oh, and fanfiction formatting is a bitch. ...

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you'd recognise. Oh, and I hope you all know that the bit about "It" is giving me nightmares already. I am absolutely afraid of that book.

* * *

_dreaming I'm alive_

Two hours ago, his mind had switched to autopilot. Two hours since he had been left standing in the corridor, deaf and blind and screaming without making a sound. Somehow, his heart hadn't stopped beating, the world hadn't stopped turning, somehow, his feet had carried him outside, his hands had stretched out to call a cab.

One hour since he had found himself breaking into their own hotel room, because the key hadn't been at the reception, which could only mean that Rus-

He had existed, breathed, functioned, because there were always options.

We'll contact you.

Going through the next actions, he noticed that he couldn't feel his own body. His thoughts were automated, the actions were following a strict pattern.

Get the clothes, don't look at them.

They weren't his, those shirts weren't his shirts, the malachite coloured tie wasn't and nor was the mauve one.

They were only clothes. The white silk trousers, the Oxford shoes, the toothbrush and the shampoo. Two bags of toffee, the maps and plans on the table, the tattered copy of Stephen King's "It".

He had never been able to read further than "They all float down here. When you're down here with us, you'll float too!" in the second chapter, but from the other bed there'd only come a muffled laugh and then the repetition of these lines over and over again and it had felt like holiday camp.

Picking up socks and frowning at the Tylenol, he had to keep himself from staring at the laptop screen. In his shiny silver shirt, he had been sitting there when he had entered after answering Reuben's seventeen calls, assuring him that things were safe. And he'd looked up from the screen where some ridiculous internet test result ("Are you a dog or a cat person?") had revealed that-

_"Danny, I'm a mouse person. A mouse."_

The bags were packed. His eyes travelled through the room, his right hand gripped the doorknob.

And then the Mission Impossible theme started to play and his whole body jerked. God. His cell phone. He couldn't remember choosing that ring tone.

Frantically, his hands searched his pockets and produced the small black phone.

Caller ID: Rusty.

His mind stopped. His feet lost the ground. He knew it wasn't- but what if-

He'd had worse nightmares.

"Hello?"

Another voice. "Daniel Ocean."

It wasn't a question, but he felt he'd disappear if he didn't answer. "Yes."

"Panicking already?"

The voice was calm and a bit too high and he recognised it, he knew the cold grey eyes and the callousness. Because there had been Cemetery Road in Belize and the marble apartment and they had been obliged to help and they had won.

They had _won_.

"What do you want?", he asked and felt like a thirteen-year-old.

"Oh, I already got it."

The walls fell, the thunderstorm inside him erupted and he knew it was a mistake, but closing his eyes he pressed the phone against his face and his lips formed the words Please and Not Him.

"Take me, I'll do whatever-"

"No. I can see that I have to make myself a little clearer. Mr. Ocean, I understand you were the person in charge twelve years ago?"

There was no way denying it. He didn't want an answer, he wanted affirmation.

"It's called 'eye for an eye'. You surely understand that."

He didn't, but he said yes. He couldn't think. He couldn't sense.

Rusty.

"You destroyed my life."

"We didn't-"

"You, Mr. Ocean, destroyed my life", repeated the voice. "See, this is really becoming very easy. You take something from me and I take something from you. We're even."

"But he… he is…"

"This is not about him."

This is just between us. Private affairs.

There were yellow spots before his eyes. The veins behind his temples dared to explode and all he could force out through his teeth was: "Can I talk to him?" and he hated himself.

"No, I don't think so." After a small pause, the voice laughed. "But I can assure you that the first thing he said after waking up was your name." Silence. "Quite often, actually. Most charming, both of you. You're making this far easier than I had imagined."

He kept his eyes closed, silently choking.

"I will keep you updated, Mr. Ocean."

And the line went dead.

He didn't remember kneeling down, he didn't remember leaning against the cold mirror. The world shook and his heart burst and there was nothing he could do.

And somehow he was still alive.


	4. Chance

**Dedicated to the almighty Otherhawk and InSilva. Thank you both for everything. You're such an inspiration and I'm flattered to think that you have actually been waiting for this. And I hope it turned out alright. Sorry for the delay, I had some massive trouble with this.**

* * *

_I wonder how am I still here_

Sometimes, Rusty thought, sometimes he was glad and thankful to have grown up on a fairground and learned from the artists and carnies. He remembered Shayar, the escape artist, who had strangled himself while desperately rehearsing for the beginning of high season. Two weeks before, on Rusty's eighth birthday, however, he had shown him a trick under the pledge of secrecy.

Roozbeh, he had said, because Shayer had never tried to remember names, this is important.

And after his wife had tied Shayer's hands behind his back with a rope, Rusty had checked the knots and sat down.

Watch, kid. Watch.

And Rusty had watched. He'd watched the quick movement of the only two fingers that could move, had watched the wrists wriggle and the knuckles find a way through the layers of rope. He had watched the thumbs turn and the index fingers pull at one end of the rope and the palms turn inwards and suddenly the rope had fallen down.

Alright, he had said. I can do that.

Shayer had tied him up and Rusty had known he had made even tighter knots, because although it was Rusty's birthday, Shayer had still had his professional honour.

Five minutes later, the rope had fallen to the floor and Shayer hadn't said a word. He had only smiled.

After two weeks, there hadn't been a knot or a tie he couldn't open.

After Shayer's death, he had never felt the fascination and urge again. Never had to.

Until now.

His left ring finger had found one end of the rope, his right thumb could turn. Two fingers. The rope cut into his wrists and he bit his teeth while moving them. Nothing. No loosening. A cramp shot up his forearm and he could feel the sweat on his face.

Breathe and concentrate, Rus, he told himself and let stress and anxiety roll off his mind. If he comes back before you're done…

Breathe.

Suddenly, he was able to stretch the fingers on his right hand. A fingernail brushed past the other end of the rope.

Alright, he said to himself. I can do that.

The trick was to work steadily, to pretend to be doing the first step of a long journey, even if it seemed like one of the last steps. Rusty was aware that as soon as his mind noticed the adrenaline and hope, he'd lose focus. He'd forget which knot had been the weakest. He'd have to count the different parts and layers of rope that ran over the base of his thumb again.

Rational, schematic advancement.

And most importantly, he was not to let his mind drift to Danny.

* * *

Danny had decided that although the man in the basement had said something about not informing anyone, they wouldn't find out. And he wasn't going to let anything slip. But he had to make these two calls. Because there were only two people who would understand.

"Hello?"

"Bobby."

"Danny. How are you?"

"I'm fine. But," his voice became a bit too throaty, "I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore…" he let the phrase linger for a while "… and I need your help."

He could see Bobby closing his eyes and leaning against something, probably sitting down. "Give me a name."

Overwhelmed with inexplicable thankfulness, he said the name.

* * *

He allowed himself to enjoy the newly gained feeling of freedom for three seconds. Then he slowly raised his hands and pulled off the blindfold.

A concreted cellar room. Blank and empty, except for the neon lamp above his head and a chair in the opposite corner, next to the dark door.

Slowly and assessing, his gaze travelled from the chair to the lamp and back. The merciless, sharp light burned in his eyes, but that didn't matter, because he could orient himself and prepare himself.

For a moment, his eyes had rested on the firm lock and the walls had started to come closer, but he had clenched his teeth together and barricaded his soul. Anxiety had brought the pain back and he didn't need heavy shoes walking up to him again, and he didn't need the fingerprints and the grim laughter.

His body didn't feel like his own and he ignored the blood on his temple and the coldness of his skin.

* * *

In a few minutes, he would know. And he would suffer, Danny knew that, and he would ask and despair. And then he would breathe deeply and he would be of irreplaceable assistance.

His fingers dialed the number and somewhere inside, he remembered the last talk. Hours ago. As he recalled what he had said – "I know what I'm doing. It's going to work and it's safe. Don't worry." – he had to keep himself from hanging up.

"Daniel? I thought the both of you would be either be celebrating or fleeing the state."

He didn't know what to say. Silent pleas to forgive it all escaped his lips, but then he said "I'm not sure we're in Kansas anymore" and he could see Reuben frown, because fleeing the state would definitely not involve Kansas.

* * *

The plan had been easy. Actually, Rusty was quite sure he had been set up, but then figured that he should use the chance he didn't have.

After slowly getting up and almost losing consciousness again, he had managed to put the chair under the neon light, then he had screwed it off. Now, glass tube in one hand and the chair in the other, he waited right beside the door, head pressed against his knees. All hopes that the sudden narrowness of the room would vanish in the darkness had proved pointless, and the pain and the fear were back, although he had tried to lock them away. They had sneaked up at him and now they were everywhere.

And then he remembered indicating that Danny shouldn't worry. And in the middle of hating himself for letting them con themselves, he hoped Danny had understood.


End file.
